


Memories Bring Back You

by NaomiJameston



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Character Death, F/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaomiJameston/pseuds/NaomiJameston
Summary: No one entering a cemetery wants to be disturbed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 21
Kudos: 58
Collections: SSHG Spooktober Fest 2020





	Memories Bring Back You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my amazing betas, HellofaUniverse and LunaP999!

No one would notice the dark man keeping to the shadows in the middle of the night. And even if they did, they wouldn’t say anything. He had an aura that dissuaded idle conversation and promised violence; his cloak snapped behind him and though his stride was strong and assured, his boots touched the cobblestones with no sound. A scowl seemed a permanent fixture on his face. The air around him seemed cold, as cold as his heart. 

And besides, no one entering a graveyard wanted to be disturbed. 

The grounds were overgrown and dreary, even for a place not known for celebration. Thick fog clung to the ground, as cold as the dark man. The trees hung low as though pulled down by despair. Their stark branches crossed together to block the narrow path winding through the graves. A fanciful person might wonder if the trees were protecting the lost lives buried beneath them, but even fanciful people would know better than to wander here. 

The dark man flicked his wrist and the branches slid apart, pulling upward until they formed an arch above a hidden collection of gravestones. They too were overgrown, covered in moss and slime and the detritus of time. Though the stones weren’t terribly old as stones go, the letters that had been hastily carved into them were already fading. An H here, followed a short distance later by a P. Several whose family names may have started with W. One with a “Mc”-something.

He lingered at the grave, the wind blowing his long black robes into wild limbs around him. His expression didn’t change an iota but the howl in the wind seemed to speak to his turmoil. His lips moved silently and a thistle plant sprang from the ground, growing to a huge height in an instant. It sprouted several large dull purple blooms, a tiny bit of cheer in the dismal graveyard, but the prickles grew unnaturally large and sharp. A warning. Or a promise. With a mild nod and tiny bow to the grave now nearly obscured by thistles, the dark man moved on.

Another grave was placed slightly away from the others and its surface had been scratched to near nothingness- only an H and half an R at the end survived the onslaught of time and rage. It bore no other ornamentation and carried an air of not-quite-benign neglect. Old burns marked the surface and for several feet around it, but the grave itself was covered in moss. 

He settled atop the mossy bed to lean back against the stone. His hand brushed the moss gently, not disturbing its placement on the grave but drawing some sort of comfort from its softness. 

Some would call his sitting on the grave sacrilegious and disrespectful to the deceased, but the dark man didn’t spare them a thought. Small-minded people; they couldn’t understand if they tried. They certainly wouldn’t understand how he could bear to lean on a grave and open a summoned bottle of wine, take a swig from it, and sigh heavily. They wouldn’t understand why he toasted the other graves nearby, why his eyes lingered heavily on one with a plain stone with a partially faded name that started with “Nymph”, and it’s partner stone with a carved werewolf. Nor would they understand why he spoke to himself quietly. They might catch the word, “cheers,” but they wouldn’t understand the irony underneath. They wouldn’t hear the catch in his breath.

They wouldn’t see the glint of diamond as he slid a hidden ring from where it spun on a gold chain above his heart and placed it on the moss next to him. They wouldn’t see the indentation where he had placed the ring so many times before. They wouldn’t hear him say, “I wish…” and trail off. They might have seen the pale blue wisp of a ghostly curl as it settled behind the resting man, but they’d have just as easily dismissed it. They may have seen him lean into the wisp ever so slightly and his eyes flutter closed as his breath hitched. 

But no, if anyone saw anything, they would only see a dark shape rising from the ground and stalking away, his steps assured and quick but not afraid. No one who saw him would hear the hitch in his chest. Wouldn’t see his clenched fist or the way he tightened his jaw and replaced his mask. 

After all, how could Severus Snape- right hand of The Dark Lord, revered by many, and feared by all- possibly feel regret at the death of The Mudblood and the blood traitors? 

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Maroon 5's Memories song. I don't know why it went so dark, but it worked so much better than the other fic I was planning for Spooktober, so I went with it. :)


End file.
